Born to Fly
by Miguel51
Summary: After all they've been through to get back together, Peyton & Brooke are once again engaged and ready to face anything that life has left to throw at them. Or are they? Breyton, plus others. Sequel to 'Tomorrow Starts Today'.
1. White Blank Page

**Born to Fly**

Disclaimer: OTH belongs to the CW & Mark Schwann.

Summary: After all they've been through to get back together, Peyton & Brooke are once again engaged and ready to face anything that life has left to throw at them. Or are they? Breyton, plus others. Sequel to 'Tomorrow Starts Today'.

**1 - White Blank Page**

Peyton

_Home sweet home,_ an exhausted Peyton Sawyer thought while trudging through the arrival's gate at Brunswick Airport, her tired emerald gaze in search of a certain brunette fashion diva amongst the assembled people waiting for their loved ones who had just disembarked the plane. The blonde couldn't help but smile when she caught sight of an approaching Brooke Davis, who was wearing her trademark dimpled grin as she rushed forward to meet Peyton halfway.

"You are insane!" Brooke cried out in excitement, her arms thrown around the record producer in a tight embrace. "Completely and utterly insane! And I love you!" She pressed her lips hard against Peyton's own in a brief but passionate kiss. "I love you!" Another kiss, this one deeper and much longer than the first. "I love you!"

"I love you, too," breathed Peyton, lithe arms wrapped around her lover's waist. She pulled Brooke against her body tightly, just enjoying the feel and smell of the woman in her embrace. "God, I missed you."

"I missed you, too, baby," Brooke cooed into her ear before pulling back to kiss the blonde once more, only stopping when oxygen deprivation began to become an issue. "Ask me again," she rasped after they finally seperated from their kiss again, foreheads touching as they tried to catch their breath. "Propose to me again."

"Brooke Penelope Davis," the curly haired blonde whispered, distinctly aware that several people were now watching them and really not caring if they were. All that mattered was the woman in her arms at that moment and absolutely nothing else. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes, I'll marry you, Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer," she nodded, her hazel eyes shimmering with tears of joy. "From now until the day I die, the answer will always be yes!"

"Always?" Peyton quizzed.

"Always," Brooke promised.

After sharing another gentle kiss the two girls walked towards the exit, each carrying a piece of luggage while entwining the fingers on their free hands. Peyton didn't fail to notice that a few people had paused to either glance or glare at the girls, but the blonde chose to ignore the attention their reunion had unintentionally garnered them and just bask in the fact that Brooke had actually accepted her marriage proposal. Although Brooke had already done so over the phone several hours beforehand, it was still a huge relief for Peyton to hear the words come straight from the bubbly brunette's own beautiful mouth. Peyton couldn't keep the smile from her lips at the thought that Brooke was once again her fiance. _And I promise you, Brooke, this time we're going to get it right._

"So how was your trip?" Brooke asked non-chalantly, like they hadn't been making out in public just a few moments earlier. "Did you fix whatever was wrong?"

"More or less," she shrugged. "At least enough to get Mia's album distributed. After that though, I don't know what'll happen. Jon has a lot of pull in the industry and I was lucky that one of my former colleagues decided to contact me before he could do some real damage."

"But it's all good for the moment, right? You don't have to go anywhere for a while, I mean," her fiance inquired, hopeful. "Do you?"

"Not for a while, babe," the blonde assured with a squeeze of her hand.

"Good to know," beamed Brooke, those infamous dimples of hers once again on full display.

The newly engaged couple arrived at Brooke's parked Beetle minutes later and Peyton was grateful for the fact since the blonde was bone weary, just wanting to find a bed so she could finally rest without having to worry about anything to do with the machinations of Jon Knight.

"You look completely spent, P," her fiance remarked when they finished loading the luggage into the vehicle. "Why don't you crash at my place? It's closer than your place, plus we can cuddle."

"That sounds fantastic right now," Peyton agreed, sending a tired smile to her love. "What would I ever do without you?"

"Probably shrivel up and die, I think," Brooke stated.

"That's probably true, but I'd rather not ever find out," she admitted.

"Me either, Peyt," the brunette nodded, laying a soft kiss on Peyton's lips.

"Take us home, Brooke," Peyton whispered.

"Yes, dear," Brooke rasped back before they went to seperate sides of the car and entered it. Peyton watched her fashion designer wife-to-be start the engine while a familiar tune came out from the speakers.

"I like this song," the blonde said with the left side of her face pressed against the cushion of her seat's head rest. "Brooke?"

"Yeah, baby?" Brooke asked back, her attention on the road now that they began to leave the airport parking lot.

"You are my heaven," Peyton stated along with the song.

"I love you, too, you goof," teased Brooke with a sidelong grin. "Now go to sleep. I'll wake you when we get to my place."

"Yes, dear," a groggy Peyton whispered before fatigue finally caught up with her, a gentle darkness enveloping the blonde's vision as Ron Pope's _A Drop In the Ocean_ continued to play on the radio.

Sam

It was around nine o'clock in the evening when Samantha Walker finally ran out of steam on her 'Brooke Davis is a crazy bitch' tirade, which meant the teen had spent the last four hours or so periodically bitching and complaining to her best friend, Jack Daniels, about her run in with the local superstar and world famous fashion diva the day before. Sam plopped down onto the couch beside him, allowing a deep sigh to escape her lips in the process.

"So let me get this straight," said the boy after a quiet moment, face turned towards her with a bemused expression. "You stole a bunch of high fashion crap, she caught you in the act, the two of you had a tug-of-war on some glittery dress before you bolted, and somehow she's at fault here?"

"Yes, exactly," Sam confirmed.

"Well, that makes total sense," he snorted.

"Glad you see it my way, Jackie Boy," she smirked.

"I was being facetious, Sam," the boy smirked back.

"That's an awfully big word from such a small mind," Sam teased, their gazes meeting for a long moment that threatened to become awkward.

"Whatever," Jack muttered with fake annoyance after breaking their unexpected staring contest, the television remote in his hand now pointed at the television in order to change the channel. The pair sat beside each other for several minutes in silence, the only sound coming from the large but almost ancient television that took up the corner of her best friend's family living room. The awkward quiet between them continued until a commercial for the newest line from Clothes Over Bros appeared on the screen, which caused Sam to bristle once again.

"I bet she's never had to work for anything in her entire life," a resentful Samantha complained, her brown eyes narrowed at the television where a grinning Brooke Davis could be seen looking directly into the camera. "Spoiled little bitch."

"Yeah, people like her should be shown their proper place," a familiar and unwelcomed voice agreed from behind them, the two high schoolers turning to face Jack's older brother, Xavier. Or as he insisted others call him (sometimes violently so), X. His almost leering gaze met Sam, who forced herself not to cringe in disgust and fear. "They need to be brought down a notch or two, don't you think so, Sammy?"

"I think I should be heading home now," stated Sam in discomfort, not wanting to be anywhere near the creep. How Jack could even be related to the sleazoid was beyond the young brunette, especially since the brothers were obviously on different ends of the personality spectrum. "I'll see you at school tomorrow, Jack."

Jack nodded back at Sam in silence, his expression told his best friend that he understood the reason why she was in such a sudden rush to leave. She was halfway down the street before allowing her pace to slow, casting a dubious glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her. Satisfied that nobody was there, the teen turned back down the street and continued towards her destination. Sam kept to the shadows during her approach, the building ahead of her looming despite it being only the local high school. She glanced around once more then proceeded forward, her sneakered feet padding almost silently against the concrete. Concrete soon gave way to grass as the young girl crept along the wall until finally arriving underneath a window.

_Please don't be locked,_ Sam prayed, hoping that some teacher or member of the janitorial staff hadn't found and locked the window she'd left unlocked earlier that day. Her fingers found just enough purchase on the window frame in order to test it. She grinned in the darkness when it slid open with a small hiss, then entered the empty shop class. The teenager crept towards the car that was acting as her temporary home for the last two weeks, shutting the trunk door of the sedan firmly but quietly with a click. She made herself as comfortable as possible, her bag pulling double duty as a pillow.

"Home sweet home," Sam muttered, her brown eyes fluttering closed.

Brooke

With a snoozing Peyton seated on the passenger side of her car, an ecstatic Brooke Davis pulled up to the curb in front of her boutique. She smiled at the prone form of her fiance, brushing back an errant blonde curl from the other woman's gorgeous face. She giggled softly when the blonde lazily swatted her hand away in her sleep.

"Are we there already?" Peyton asked, those incredible viridian eyes still hidden behind their lids.

"No, we're at Clothes Over Bros," Brooke whispered, laying a kiss on her fiance's cheek. "I forgot some of my sketches, but I won't be more than a minute. Now go back to sleep. I'll wake you up when we get there, okay?"

"Okay, love you," the adorably tired Peyton mumbled.

"Love you, too, baby," she whispered before exitting her car. The fashion designer hurried from the driver's side of her VW Beetle, quickly entering after the front door was unlocked to head straight into the back room where Brooke had left them following Peyton's surprise proposal over the phone earlier that same evening.

_Just when I think I have you figured out, P Sawyer, you go and surprise me like this,_ Brooke smiled while gathering the sketches from the desk in the backroom. The sound of the bells above the front door jingling caused her smile to widen. _Looks like somebody is not so tired after all!_

"You know, if you wanted some nookie, you just had ask," Brooke teased with her back to the doorway, then frowned at the other's silence. "Peyton?" A confused Brooke turned to find that it wasn't her fiance standing behind her at all, but a man wearing a ski mask instead. "You're not Peyton."

"No, I'm not," the man confirmed in a mocking tone, switching off the light to leave them in an oppressive gloom.

Brooke let out a terrified scream and tried to escape, but the intruder was quicker than the fashionista. She felt rough hands grip her by the shoulders to fling her across the room, where Brooke's body struck the desk to steal the air from her lungs. Gasping for breath and struggling to escape once more, Brooke scrambled to the doorway towards freedom. She made it as far as the counter before being pulled up to her feet and was now face-to-face with her attacker. She spat in his face in defiance, which earned her an amused laugh followed by a headbutt that brought stars to her vision. She felt herself once again flung across the room, her back slamming hard against a nearby mannequin during her fall to the floor. Even though she was dazed, Brooke attempted to escape again by crawling towards the door.

"Oh, we're not done yet, honey," her assaulter taunted, his strong hands grasping her ankle to drag her into a more open space on the floor. "The fun's just starting. You don't wanna miss it, do you?"

"No, please, don't," she pleaded, fighting against him with all her might. _Oh, God, he's going to rape me!_ "Just take the money and leave!"

"Shut up, you noisy bitch," he growled, his fist striking Brooke square in the jaw. Stars returned to plague her vision, unconsciousness now threatening to descent on her. Just then though the faint tingle of bells could be heard from far away, filling her heart with terror. _No, please don't be Peyton!_

"Get off her, you fucking son of a bitch!"

_Run, Peyton,_ a horrified Brooke tried to say, only to finally lose consciousness to the sounds of a scuffle. _Run..._

**End scene.**

**Thoughts? Comments? Then by all means feel free to hit that review button!**

**Track 1: White Blank Page - Mumford & Sons (from 'Sigh No More').**


	2. Numb

_A/N - Apologies on the long ass hiatus, good readers. I hope this is up to par. Enjoy!_

**2 - Numb**

Rachel

It had been nearly eight hours since Mouth McFadden had come barrelling back into her life and even though she still loved the guy to bits, the only thing Rachel wanted to do right now was choke him until he was unconscious. Seriously, what was the guy's problem? What part of 'do not come chasing after me' was so hard to understand?

"What a fricking idiot," she muttered bitterly under her breath, rolling onto her back. The red-head continued to stare up at the ceiling, still not knowing how to handle this odd situation. Her mind drifted back to the moment when Mouth had arrived in Milan, the memory causing Rachel to cringe once again.

_"Uh, I'll just grab the next one," said Mouth, his familiar voice instantly sapping Rachel's ardor for the woman in her arms._

_"You have got to be fucking kidding me," the red-head groaned in disbelief, her fingers still tangled up in her date's curly brown hair._

_"What? What's going on? Did the lift stop?" Miranda softly demanded, sounding confused that their make out session had abruptly ended. She glanced at Mouth, frowning. "Do you mind stepping out of the way, please?"_

_"Yeah, sure," he nodded. "Sorry."_

_"Thank you," the Brit smiled, unaware of her date's turmoil. That is until she had to pause and look back at Rachel, who was just standing there in shock. "Is there something the matter?"_

_Rachel shook her head. "No, I just need a moment."_

_"All right, don't take too long," she nodded, then leaned forward to lay a swift, soft kiss on the red-head's cheek. Miranda shared a quick, knowing glance with her date, effectively telling Rachel that she wasn't completely ignorant of what was going on here. "I'll be waiting."_

_"I won't be long," promised the former supermodel. Without another word said, Miranda Stone sauntered away towards the hotel restaurant. When her date was finally out of sight, Rachel turned back to Mouth with a glare. "What the hell are you doing here?"_

_"She seemed nice," he evaded the question._

_"Don't make me slap you, Marvin," she warned, not at all appreciating his sudden appearance or his current timid demeanor. The sooner this was wrapped up, the sooner Rachel could get back to Miranda and maybe somehow salvage their date. "Now, why are you in Milan?"_

_"Millicent found your letter," he stated._

_"My letter? What let-" she began, only to widen her eyes at what he was talking about. "You mean to tell me you didn't throw it out? Are you some kind of idiot?"_

_"Apparently," her ex sighed._

_"You've obviously been friends with Lucas Scott for too long," muttered Rachel. This sort of idiocy was something that the broody novelist would end up finding himself tangled up in. She really thought that Mouth would have more sense than to hang onto that letter, much less letting it fall into Millicent's hands. "Still, that doesn't explain why you're here."_

_"Well, I was kind of hoping you could help me get Millie back," Mouth stated._

_Unable to think of anything appropriate to say in response, the furious red-head did the first thing that popped in her head and slapped him hard across the face._

An exhausted Rachel sighed before rolling over onto her side, her tired amber gaze drawn to the bright green numbers of the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was now four o'clock in the morning and she was still unable to get to sleep. She reached over to grab her cellphone from beside the alarm clock, deftly unplugging it in the process of bringing the device up to her face. She gazed at the newest number in her contact list with an odd mix of regret, excitement, and longing.

_"So how did it go with that bloke?" Miranda asked when Rachel finally joined her in the restaurant, their gazes having yet to meet. "Everything sorted?"_

_"I don't want to talk about it," the red-head said, her hand not quite done throbbing after the slap she had administered to Mouth. She didn't bother to open up the menu placed in front of her. Being written in Italian, Rachel was unable to read it anyway. She usually just got room service to surprise her when the red-head got hungry. "What's good here?"_

_"I hear the gnocchi is brilliant," her date stated, taking the hint. "But I'm more partial towards the risotto."_

_"Risotto it is, then," she agreed tersely. The rest of their date went on like this. Stiff conversation topic after stiff conversation topic. Gone was the quick reporte that drew them to each other earlier in the day. It soon became obvious to Rachel that this date was beyond salvation. At least that's what Rachel had concluded until dinner was finished and the pair made their way towards the elevator, where a pensive Miranda stopped their progress halfway._

_"I don't really know what happened between the elevator and dinner, but I do know that I'm attracted to you, Rachel," the olive skinned beauty stated. "And I'm fairly certain that the feeling's mutual. And once you have whatever business with your friend sorted, I'd very much like to attempt this again sometime in the near future. No distractions next time though."_

_"I'd very much like that, too, Miranda," she smiled in relief._

_Miranda returned her smile with a brilliant one of her own. "Would you like my number?"_

_"That'd be great, yes."_

"I wonder if it's too late to call her?" Rachel asked aloud, then rolled her eyes. Of course, it was too late to call. Not everyone had the same terrible sleeping habits the red-head possessed. She was about to plug her cellphone back in when it began ringing, which startled Rachel enough that she dropped it onto the bed. After recovering from her surprise with a soft chuckle, Rachel picked the phone from where it had fallen to check the caller ID. _What the hell? Why would Mia be calling me at this hour? Wait, Tree Hill's seven hours behind Milan so that means..._

"Hello?" Rachel answered, completely convinced that this must be some sort of emergency. "Mia? What's going on?"

"Yo, Red."

"Skillz?"

"Yeah, it's me. Sorry 'bout calling so late, but somethin' bad's gone down. P Sawyer and Mia are gonna need ya here ASAP."

"What happened?"

"From what Mia's told me, Brooke was attacked in her store."

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Is it bad?"

"I don't know, Red," he answered. "I'm thinkin yeah though since we all in the emergency room waitin' on the doctors right now. You're the first on Mia's contact list after P. I gotta call Hales now, tell'em what's goin' on."

"I'll get on the next flight out," Rachel order, now completely frantic. "Keep me updated, Antwon."

"Will do. Hurry, Red."

"No need to tell me twice," she returned before hanging up. The next few minutes were a blur as she searched for her luggage. Rachel had just retrieved one of her bags from the closet when there was a knocking at her door. The red-head knew immediately who it was and rushed to open the door, where a wide eyed Mouth was standing. "You heard?"

"Yeah, Skillz just called me a minute ago."

"Then you know we don't have enough time to talk," ordered Rachel, shoving aside her own issues with the shell shocked blonde standing in her doorway. "Help me pack my bags."

Without exchanging another word, Mouth nodded and followed her inside.

Nathan

Haley let out another long sigh. It was the third or fourth sigh that the short brunette had released since they had gone to bed, which was a clear sign that something was bothering her. And since this was Haley, it also meant that she wanted Nathan to ask her what was wrong rather than outright saying what was bugging her. Sure, he suspected what the problem was from his wife's subdued mood during their celebration earlier that night, but Nathan had hoped she'd let the subject drop. Of course, if that had happened then Haley would simply simmer for a while until the issue finally boiled over and she snapped. That was a situation Nathan definitely didn't want to contend with at ANY time.

_Might as well get this over with,_ Nathan thought before rolling over to face his wife. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," she sighed, obviously lying.

"Hales," he insisted. "Come on, I know that tone. What's wrong?"

Haley was silent for a long moment before finally relenting with yet another drawn out sigh. "I'm not sure if this is the best time for you to attempt a comeback, Nathan."

"Figured it was something like that," he groaned, his head tossed back onto the pillow so Nathan could stare at the ceiling. "This is a really huge opportunity, Hales. If I don't take it, who knows if I'll ever get another offer in the future."

"I understand that," she answered, shifting her position in order to lay a hand on his chest. "I'm just worried about your back. Is it fully healed? Will you still be able to keep up with the other players? I mean, you've been out of the game for nearly three years."

"Don't you think I worry about these things, too, Hales?" he returned. "Don't you think I haven't thought this through? Sure, I've been training with the Ravens to get back into shape, but will that be good enough? Or am I just kidding myself with this?"

"Oh, Nate..."

"But this is my dream, Haley," he continued, turning now to face her. "And if I don't try, I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

"And what if you don't make the cut?" Haley whispered, not unkindly. "We almost lost everything the last time your dream started looking out of reach. You started drinking heavy and weren't very good company. Actually, you were a complete dick, not only to me and Lucas, but to your own son. A son who worships you. And I don't ever want us to go through that again." Her brown eyes narrowed, that beautiful face of hers furrowing almost into an almost angry expression. "In fact, I refuse to go through it again. Understand?"

"What exactly are you saying, Haley?" he scowled.

"What I'm saying, Nathan, is this," his wife explained, sitting up. "I am your wife. I will support you and your dream of making a comeback until I am blue in the face." She promised, pausing for a moment to steady her resolve. "But if you don't make the cut and end up becoming the verbally abusive asshole you were after your accident, I will take Jamie and leave you so fast that it'll make your head spin."

Before the shell shocked Nathan could even think of a proper reply, the telephone beside their bed began to ring.

"Who the hell could that be at this hour?" Haley complained, the receiver brought quickly up to her ear. "Hello?" Beat. "Skillz? What happened? Why are you calling so la-" She stopped mid-sentance, a gasp escaping her lips. "Oh, my God! Is she all right?"

"Hales, what's going on?" Nathan cried, instantly forgetting their own tense conversation at her distressed tone. "What happened?"

"We'll be right there," she answered, ignoring her husband's question. "Carrie's still here until Thursday, so both of us will get there as soon as we can."

"What the hell's going on, Hales?" he demanded as she hung up the phone, dread gripping his chest.

"Brooke's in the hospital," a shaken Haley stated, getting out of bed. "She was attacked in her store and-"

"Go get dressed," Nathan interjected, having heard all he needed to. "I'll go wake Carrie so she can watch Jamie." Without another word he rose from bed as well and left the room, the tense conversation they'd just shared all but forgotten for the time being.

Peyton

_Please be alright, baby, please be alright,_ a distraught Peyton begged silently, her own scrapped up hands clasping Brooke's for dear life. Tear streaks ran down the music producer's cheeks that more than likely left her looking like a complete mess, but Peyton didn't care one bit about her appearance at the moment. Not with her fiancé in such a damaged state.

"Please wake up, baby," she whispered, closing her eyes tightly against the new surge of tears threatening to fall. "You know I can't...I can't..."

"Peyton?"

"Mia?" she rasped, her shimmering gaze aimed towards her friend.

"Holy crap, Peyton! What the fuck happened to you guys?" her roommate cried, the young musician rushing to her side. "Why didn't the doctors put you in a bed, too?"

"It's just a few cuts and bruises," Peyton lied while turning her gaze back to the unconscious Brooke. "I gave as good as I got." She sniffled then winced in pain, an agonizing jolt travelling down her bandaged right side that Peyton had a difficult time recovering from. "Brooke, though..."

"What happened, Peyton?" Mia whispered.

_Peyton had woken with a start, unsure of her surroundings for a brief moment. After regaining her bearings though she wondered what was taking Brooke so long. Hadn't she just gone inside to grab some sketches?_

_"She's probably waiting for me to come inside and fool around," chuckled the blonde under her breath, unbuckling her safety belt and exitting the car. Despite her jet-lag Peyton found herself looking forward to the prospect of making love with her _fiancé_ in the backroom of Brooke's boutique. It wouldn't be the first time they did that either, nor would it be the last time if Peyton had any say in the matter. Brooke's drawing desk was surprising sturdy!_

_With this tantalizing thought in mind Peyton approached Clothes Over Bros, only to slow her progress in sudden unease. Another moment passed by before a horrifying shriek reached Peyton's ears. Without any hesitation she rushed towards the boutique, her heart beating a mile a minute. What Peyton rushed inside to find was like a scene from her worst nightmare. On the floor lay her unconscious fiancé with a shadowy figure on top of her, his intent obvious to anyone with a functioning brain._

_"Get off her, you fucking son a bitch!"_

_Peyton didn't know how long her shock had lasted between her entrance and her shout but it couldn't have been that long since Brooke's attacker was still in the process of trying to pull his pants up when she hurled herself toward him. The thought of this sleaze bag attempting anything that heinous sparked a reservoir of hatred that Peyton didn't realize she possessed, a simmering white hot fire that built with each quick step towards her target until the blonde charged shoulder first into the intruder._

_The two combatants crashed heavily to the floor with Peyton on top, the lithe record producer throwing absolutely anything and everything she could think of at the intruder. A couple of knees aimed at his groin along with elbows and punches aimed at his face and throat, not to mention clawing at his eyes in hopes of blinding him with her nails. She was ferocious in her attack, adrenaline coursing through her entire being. Somewhere in that blinding fury Peyton knew it was only a matter of time until the element of surprise would become irrelevant as her foe had the obvious advantages of size and strength on his side, so she desperately wanted to end this before the tide could turn against her to doom both herself and Brooke. All she needed was a lucky hit to something vital..._

_"Get off me, you crazy bitch!" the assailant bellowed in panic, not at all expecting this kind of onslaught. She fell backwards but was quickly on her feet again and back on the attack, hoping to regain her advantage. Just as she grabbed him by the jacket though, her much stronger foe almost effortlessly tossed the blonde across the room. Peyton felt herself sail through the air for an instant, hitting the nearby cashier counter with breath sapping force before falling to the hardwood floor with a dull thud and what sounded like a clatter of plastic encased metal. Her gaze was immediately drawn to where that sound originated. There on the floor lay an object just barely within her reach, its shape unmistakable._

_She tightly grasped the fallen utility knife in her hand while recovering her feet as quickly as possible, her newly acquired weapon held ready in surprisingly steady hands. Their eyes met as she clicked the blade out to its full extent. Peyton steeled herself for the coming assault, wondering if she'd be able to even survive it. Even through the pumping adrenaline she was finding it hard to breath, her right side on fire from the effort. A quick peek sideways at her fiancé's prone form in the gloom was quickly followed by her opponent lunging forward in an attempt to grab the utility knife, which resulted in Peyton blindly swipping at him in hopes of a lucky strike._

_A scream of pain from her assailant told her she'd caught him. Their eyes met once again, except this time there was hesitation and genuine hatred in the man's gaze. He glanced down at his injured arm where Peyton had managed to slice him open through his jacket, then back up at the troublesome blonde as though weighing his options._

_"Screw this," her opponent spat, all but sprinting out the door._

_After a moment of hesitation of her own, Peyton attempted to follow but her knees buckled to send the blonde crashing to the floor. Her body refused to obey any longer as the injuries sustained from her struggle combined with the adrenaline seeping away began to take its toll. Without thinking Peyton removed her cellphone from her backpocket then dialled 911, too exhausted to marvel at how the device had managed to stay in there during the fight._

_After rasping out the required information to the best her muddled mind could manage, Peyton slowly and painfully dragged herself across the hardwood floor towards her unconscious fiancé._

_"The EMTs are on their way, Brooke," whispered Peyton, her hand grasping the injured fashionista by the forearm. "So please be okay, okay? Please be oka..."_

"Peyton? Can you hear me?" Mia asked, her apprehension and fear on clear display. "Peyton? Talk to me, please."

"Give her a little room, Mia," chided a familiar voice from behind the fidgety musician.

"Haley? When did you get here?" the record producer rasped, completely confused.

"Shh, it doesn't matter, Peyt," Haley soothed, pulling a chair up to sit down beside her friend. "All that matters is you two are safe."

"Haley," Peyton whimpered before another deluge of tears surged forward, her face now buried in Haley's shoulder.

**End scene.**

**Reviews would be awesome, thanks. Also, the next update won't be nearly as long a wait. I promise.**

**Track 2: Numb - Marina & the Diamonds (from 'The Family Jewels').**


	3. Bruised

_A/N - I have no idea why I have Skills as a POV character when I have so much damned trouble writing him. Maybe I'm a masochist? Anyway, here's the new chapter. Hope you guys enjoy it._

**3 - Bruised**

Brooke

_It was just a dream, Brooke. It was just a horrible, horrible dream,_ Brooke reminded herself over and over again, her panicked mind still racing from the fresh nightmare images that jolted the fashionista awake and had her clumsily running headlong into the washroom to empty the contents of her stomach into the sink. Hazel eyes gazed up at the unfamiliar and battered visage in the mirror, a small amount of vomit clinging to the corner of the beaten girl's mouth. She wiped it off with a grimace, angry at how weak and helpless her attacker had caused Brooke to feel.

"Who are you?" she asked the girl in the mirror, greenish-brown eyes studying every visible bruise and laceration. Split bottom lip. Puffed up left cheek. Black right eye. Swollen upper lip. Scraped jawline. Bruised collarbone. A shuttering breath reminded her of the three broken ribs she had sustained, probably when her attacker had tossed Brooke around her boutique like a ragdoll. She closed her eyes only to immediately regret the action when the nightmare that had woken her up came screaming back to the forefront of her memory, a pathetic whimper escaping her lips at the images of her attacker having his way with herself and, after that, Peyton.

Brooke knew for a fact that wasn't how events had played out but try telling that to her subconscious, which continually played out the worst case scenario over and over again in her mind ever since she was discharged from the hospital. If Peyton hadn't used tooth and claw to fight off their attacker to a stand still, then...

"God, when did I become so weak and pathetic?" Brooke rasped with hands on her head, no longer able to even look at her own reflection.

"You are not weak and pathetic," a familiar voice stated from the doorway.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked without looking at her girlfriend. She couldn't bring herself to look at the other girl. Not without blaming herself for the battle scars that the blonde now owned.

"Not very long. Just long enough to recognize the self-loathing creeping into your voice."

"Is there any reason why I shouldn't hate myself, Peyton? I mean, look at us," the brunette sneered, finally turning to face her fiance. "If I hadn't stopped to pick up my sketches that night, then none of this would have happened!"

"You don't know that, Brooke," Peyton disagreed. "And you can't blame yourself for the actions of some random asshole. If it's anybody's fault, it's his. Not yours."

"Where were you? When I got up, I mean," Brooke turned back towards the mirror, changing the subject. "You weren't in bed, so..."

"Couldn't sleep, so I was cleaning the kitchen," her fiance answered. "Heard you get up, so I came running."

"You always take such good care of me, P."

"And I always will, B," promised Peyton while entering the washroom proper, her arms encircling Brooke's waist. If the blonde felt the brunette briefly squirm under her touch before Brooke forced herself to relax, she didn't let on. Instead she met her fiance's gaze in the mirror, bright green eyes meeting hazel imploringly. "Do you know what I see when I look at you, baby?"

Brooke shook her head, unable to speak.

"I see a beautiful woman who had the bravery to chase after her dream, the strength to make that dream come true, and the determination to fight for that dream when her mother tried to steal it all away from her," her fiance stated. "I don't know about you but none of that sounds weak and pathetic to me."

"I get what you're saying but-"

"Hearing and believing are two different things," she finished with a kiss to Brooke's temple. "I know, Brooke. It takes time. And I'm right here, going through it right beside you."

"I have no idea how badly off I'd be without you, P," stated Brooke with all honesty. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Peyton whispered.

Later, when she was once again alone, Brooke looked herself over once again in the mirror, her fiance's words still in her ears. And though most of those words lifted Brooke's spirits, it was the mention of her mother that now troubled the fashionista. Could Victoria somehow be behind this?

_No, not even my mom is that evil,_ she tried to convince herself, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the thought. But the seed of doubt had been planted and the more she thought about it, the more Brooke began to wonder what sort of lengths her mother would actually go to gain control of everything they'd built over the last several years. Her mother had done many questionable things to help Brooke succeed in making Clothes Over Bros the massive hit it had become, questionable things that Brooke turned a blind eye to because she figured Victoria knew what she was doing. But was her mother truly capable of something this violent, this vicious to get what she wanted? And if Victoria was responsible for the attack, what other heinous acts would she commit in her attempts to usurp control of Brooke's company?

The uncertainty of these lingering thoughts frightened Brooke almost as much as her recurring nightmares did. So much so that she came to a decision then and there, one that Brooke hoped Peyton would understand when the news eventually reached her.

Skills

"Ahright, guys," shouted Antwon while clapping his hands loudly together. "You lookin' good out there, but remember that we're up 'gainst Oak Lake next game! And you know how I feel about those fools!"

"Wow, you can really hold a grudge there, Skills," stated Nathan, joining him court side to watch the Ravens practice. "You'd think you were the one whose wife Damien West hit on back then!"

"I have my own reasons for not liking that punk, Nate," he laughed before noticing his friend's five year old son was seated on the bleachers behind them. "Hey, J-dawg, nice of you to show up."

"Hey, you know me, coach," the little boy shrugged. "Always late."

"Don't be makin' a habit out of it," Skills jokingly chided, then glanced back at the boy's father. "So what brings you two here? Feelin' like being my assistant coaches again or somethin'?"

"Actually, I came to share some potentially good news," Nathan grinned. "Now, it's nothing solid yet, but it looks like all the rehab we've been doing on my back has paid off since I've got myself a tryout next week."

"Really? That's great news," he grinned back, definitely happy for his friend. "Where's the tryout?"

"Charlotte," an excited Jamie piped up from his seat. "He's gonna be a Bobcat!"

"Charlotte, huh?" Skills raised an eyebrow, nodding. "That's not too far away."

"What's going on in Charlotte, coach?" one of his players asked, obviously having overheard their conversation while passing by. "We gonna go watch a Bobcats game?"

"Has anyone ever told ya it's rude to eavesdrop, Simms?" Skills barked.

Another player stopped at that. "A Bobcats game? Sounds sweet!"

"Ah, now look what you've started," the young coach chided his small forward as the entire team stopped practicing to inquire what was going on. "Thanks a lot, Simms!"

"Sorry, coach!" Simms apologized.

"Might as well let them know," suggested Nathan.

Skills quirked an eyebrow. "You sure?"

"Yeah, why not," he nodded. "I mean, they'll never get back to practice until they know."

_Just when I think I have control of these guys, they go and pull something like this,_ Antwon grumbled silently before finally relenting under his team's questioning looks. "Fine, if all you fools really need to know, it looks like the Charlotte Bobcats may be stealing my assistant coach for the rest of the season since Nate here got himself a tryout."

The entire team began to congratulate Nathan at once, all of them pretty much ignoring their head coach in the process of wishing their (former) assistant coach good luck. Well, almost the entire team, that is. Only Quintin Fields hung back from the rest of his teammates, that familiar fuming expression dominating his features. When Q realized that Skills had noticed him, the fuming teen spun on his heel to head towards the locker room.

"Oh, this should be fun," he muttered under his breath, quickly following after the star player of the Tree Hill Ravens. It didn't take Skills but a moment or two to catch up with Q, who was now sitting on the bench with his glare directed at the floor like it was his mortal enemy. He waited another moment then chose to get down to business. "Mind tellin' me what's got your panties in a bunch now, Fields?"

"Nothin'," the younger man muttered, his gaze still glued to the tiles.

"So this tantrum you havin' just a sudden thing then?" Skills pressed, doing his best to channel Whitey's tough love act at that moment. He sat down right next to Quintin and leaned forward with hands clasped in front of him, elbows supported on his knees. This waiting game was one that Skills had employed on several occassions with Quintin, one that had, admittedly, only recently begun to work for him. Apparently Q was learning that Skills could be just as stubborn as him if he put his mind to it. Sometimes Quintin would relent and talk it out, other times he would simply storm out of the room. Skills briefly wondered why it had to be this way with star players. _Why must they always be such prima donnas?_

"He's abandoning the team," the teenager finally admitted with a growl.

"Is that what you think? That Nate is abandoning you guys?" Skills scoffed.

"What else am I supposed to think, coach?" Quintin demanded. "The entire time I thought he was here to help us get better, he was actually using us to get back into shape!"

"That's partially true," he admitted. "But do you want to know what else is true?" Skills glanced over at Q, waiting until the talented but hot-headed basketball player finally returned his gaze. "If you boys asked him to, he'd give up that opportunity."

Quintin look genuinely surprised. "He would?"

"In a heartbeat," Skills nodded. "Because to him, it don't matter how he's involved wit' basketball. All that matters is that he's involved somehow. I have never seen anybody love this game more than him. He's only chasing the pros 'cause he wants to secure his family's future." He clapped Q on the shoulder. "Are you really gonna begrudge him that?"

"Begrudge? You for real with that?" Q asked, eyebrow raised.

"Hey, I know some big words, you know," he cried, offended.

"That's not really a big word, coach," he chuckled, the young man visibly in a better mood now than a few minutes ago. "I'm gonna hit the showers."

"You do that," agreed Skills, more than glad to have that particular situation diffused. "I'm just gonna sit here. Think up some more big words to use in my next rallying speech."

"You're a good coach, you know that, Skills?" Nathan stated, joining him a few moments later.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "But I ain't no Whitey."

"I don't know if Whitey could've handled that any better," his friend countered. "He'd be proud of you, knowing that the Ravens are in good hands."

"You talkin' like he's dead, dawg," Skills laughed.

"We should go visit him sometime," suggested Nate. "You, me, Mouth. And Lucas, if we can pry him away from his wife when they get back from their honeymoon."

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed.

"Anyway, I need to get going. Haley and Jamie are waiting for me outside," Nathan stood up. "Oh, and thanks."

Skills glanced up at him. "For what?"

"If it wasn't for you and the team, I wouldn't be getting this chance like I am," he elaborated. "I won't let you guys down."

"You better not," joked Skills, which caused Nathan to laugh on his way out. Following a moment to collect his thoughts, Antwon rose from the bench and headed out the double doors where his team had gone back to running drills. "Okay, you fools, hit the showers! Practice is over!"

Victoria

Victoria Davis was not a happy woman. No, in fact, she was quite the opposite. Estranged from Brooke, her only child. On the verge of being divorced by a husband who spent all his time doing business abroad. Jobless without any real prospects of finding another. More or less friendless. Indeed, Victoria was in dire straits. If it wasn't for the fact she still had a roof over her head (for now), she'd almost be tempted to phone her own estranged parents for financial assistance. Thank heaven it hadn't come to that yet.

_If only I could snatch the company out of Brooke's control,_ she mused while struggling with the penthouse doorknob. _Then I can force her to come back to New York, away from that leech Peyton, and make her listen to reason! Then we can be like we were when we first started our company. We can get back to ruling the fashion world like we're supposed to be doing! Together!_

"But none of that's going to happen if I can't get control of the company," she muttered outloud, closing the front door behind herself.

"I believe I can help you with that, _Victoria_," a familiar voice sneered from the living room, startling the older Davis woman so badly that Victoria yelped.

"Millicent? What the hell are you doing in my home?" she demanded once her heart stopped trying to jump out of her chest. "And how the hell did you get in here?"

"I'm Brooke's personal assistant, so that means I have access to everything she owns if she wants me to have it," answered the spectacled brunette, who seemed amused by how offguard she'd caught Victoria. "And since the penthouse is official and legal property of Brooke Davis, that means I have access to it. With her permission, of course. Which I have."

"What do you mean the penthouse is under her name?" Victoria frowned.

"What? You didn't know?" Millie frowned back in disbelief. "Everything, from the penthouse here in Manhatten to the condo in Aspen, are under Brooke's name."

"Then why-"

"Haven't you been evicted?" Millicent finished. "Well, for all the crappy things you've done to your daughter, she couldn't bring herself to leave you homeless." She sighed. "God knows you would've deserved it though."

"She always did have a soft heart," Victoria stated before remembering what her daughter's personal assistant had said when she'd entered. "Now what did you mean when you said that you'd help me, someone I know you despise, wrestle control of Clothes Over Bros from my precious daughter?"

"I didn't say I'd help you wrestle control of the company from your daughter," corrected Millicent, her gaze uncharacteristically cold and steely. Her tone, too, became frigidly professional. "I am here on behalf of Brooke Penelope Davis to oversee the handing over of Brooke Davis Enterprises and the majority of its assets to you, one Victoria Anne Davis."

The next few moments were a blur as Millicent had her sign several documents, then slipped those documents into a folder that she practically shoved into Victoria's grasp when they were finished.

"Copies of these documents will be sent to your legal council as a formality come Monday morning," Millicent practically spat at her.

A speechless Victoria simpy nodded, still in shock by this turn in events.

"Congratulations, Victoria. Clothes Over Bros and Brooke Davis Enterprises are now yours," sneered the clearly infuriated Millicent Huxtable. "I sincerely hope they were worth losing your daughter over."

Before a stunned Victoria could retort, her estranged daughter's personal assistant stalked out of the room without another word, slamming the penthouse door behind her. The elder Davis woman shakily made her way towards the nearest chair to sit down, the file containing her newly acquired contracts held close against her chest. She slowly opened the folder with the intent to admire what long months of work had garnered her, only to close it in haste. That was when Millicent's words finally reached her brain, sudden comprehension dawning on her.

"It's mine now," she whispered to the empty penthouse. "It's all mine. I won."

_But if that's the case,_ Victoria wondered with teary blue eyes drawn to the ceiling. _Why does it feel like I've finally lost everything?_

**End scene.**

**Yes, I've decided to try to make Victoria into a more human character instead of the evil hag that a lot of other fanfics depict her as (not that there's anything wrong with that). I sincerely hope I'm up to this challenge.**

**Track 3: Bruised - Jack's Mannequin (from 'Everything In Transit')**


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